


Changing Everything

by letmegeekatyou



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (mild), Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Bookstore, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-04
Updated: 2014-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-19 19:32:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 19,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2400254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letmegeekatyou/pseuds/letmegeekatyou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel’s store is full of books that have been well-loved. He isn’t interested in books that find their way easily in the world; he prefers the damaged ones. His own damage, he keeps hidden away: he keeps his shop neat and his apartment private, keeps his life orderly and small. Small until he meets Sam, the not-so-small owner of the bakery next door, that is. Sam is outgoing and happy and ignores Castiel’s “No Food or Drinks” sign. He’s got his own damage, but he’s kind, and maybe, Cas thinks, he can make room for someone else in his orderly little life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. March

**Author's Note:**

> I am very indebted to a few people who helped make this story so much better than I could have made it on my own.
> 
> uke-sama made the most adorable art for this story, and working with her motivated me to work harder and make sure the story lived up to the sweetness of her drawing. (Check it out! http://uke-sama-sensei.livejournal.com/2756.html)
> 
> songsaboutsleep is full of inspiring ideas and pushed me through a ridiculous writer's block by suggesting I think more about Cas's military past.
> 
> yeswayappianway and featherleftbehind were the best betas I could have asked for, encouraging and insightful and just fantastic in general.
> 
> [note: I adjusted the rating on advice from a few people to reflect Cas's PTSD]

They say it changes you. _It_ could be anywhere: Korea, Vietnam, Afghanistan. But wherever it is, the climate or the fighting or the waiting, the endless percussion of weapons and the surrealism of family that isn't and home that exists only in pictures and memory, that it takes something in you and shifts it. Twists it or nudges it to the side, slightly, quietly, irrevocably.

And that is the thing that makes it impossible for you to fit when you come back. That is the thing that the therapists will try to make you talk about, as if you could. The thing that wakes you up at night not with nightmares but with sudden clarity and alertness for no reason at all. It becomes your new companion, and it stands between you and everyone else, so there is always a gap there, no matter how tightly they hold you, no matter how sincerely they love you, there will always be something different in you that they do not know how to love.

They only know it is something from the war, and they think it is a disease or an injury, and they think it will go away with time and affection. But you know better. It is part of you, for better or worse. Like all the other things you brought back with you, it will make your life different, and you cannot choose how. You can only choose what you do with the new life you are given.

***

Castiel still dreamed about it sometimes. It was never actual combat, just the edges of it—long drives through yellows deserts, short nights listening to the others sleeping, or not. He rarely slept much himself over there, usually just enough to get by. Mostly, he read. When there was enough light, he read and reread every page of the same book, over and over. _The Neverending Story_. Anna had sent it to him during his first deployment. He dreamed about her, too, about their parents and their brothers, but mostly he dreamed about war. Sometimes they were okay, but sometimes they were nightmares, dark dreams about flying and falling, landing in fire.

When he woke up in the morning, it always took him a minute to remember where he was, as the dreams clashed with reality. The desert bled into the sheets, and the curtain into the tarps, and the worst part was that before he remembered, when he was still half in the dream, things felt more right. It was when he recognized his apartment, his bureau, his nightstand... that was when he felt disoriented. Lost.

He tried not to let it bother him, and he tried to make it better. He decorated very little, kept things tidy, left the windows open. He tried to stay there a little while every day before going downstairs to work, and, little by little, it began to fit better. He got used to the number of steps between his bed and the shower, between the refrigerator and the kitchen table. He worked in his rooftop garden, planting vegetables in orderly rows that would be ready to pick at predictable intervals. He organized and reorganized his bookshelves until they looked right, but he hadn't found a place for that one book yet, so that one he carried around with him. Left it beside the bed at night, on the table as he ate breakfast, on the bathroom counter while he showered. It anchored him while he did the work of learning to anchor himself. Slowly, the view from the roof become familiar, the sky less heavy overhead. The walls of the apartment began to make sense to him and to circumscribe a kind of a life. He tried to be happy in it.

Most days, he managed alright. His space felt like his space, and its edges and pitfalls didn't take him by surprise. Some days, though, particularly after the nightmares, he woke up in his bed and felt like an interloper in someone else's life. Someone else who would be home any minute.

On those days, and on some of the good days, too, he didn’t stay there long; instead, he got dressed quickly, as if staying upstairs in that unfriendly, unfamiliar space would mean falling back into the nightmares. He went downstairs into the bookstore well before opening. He turned on the scattered lamps and the few overhead lights. He plugged in the electric kettle to make tea, even if he'd already had coffee upstairs. The store was full of dark corners and uneven floor boards that should have seemed threatening but never did. It was as if he had grown up with this store in his mind so that when he first stepped into it with the realtor, it seemed to welcome him like an old friend. The realtor had been startled at how quickly Castiel agreed to the price, but she didn’t know about the trust fund and how very badly Castiel wanted it out of his hands. He could live on a small Air Force pension, and he knew that the best way to remove himself from his family entirely was to throw their money into a venture like this. An impractical, romantic choice. He was still proud of it.

He was too disciplined to fall asleep in the store, but he sometimes wanted to. He thought it might feel better to wake up here, might help with the nightmares, but he knew that wasn't what he should feel. A man should separate his home and work, Castiel thought, although he didn't know where he'd heard that and wasn't sure why he believed it. A lifetime of other people’s orders and certainties had set up shop in his head, and he was unsure how to extract them, and so he lived with them. And he slept upstairs.

While the kettle heated up, he would dust here and there, look out on the busy street for a little while, unlock the door, although he didn't really expect customers, and then he would say good morning to the books, walking down each narrow aisle and running his fingers along the spines. Every book in this store had had a home before, and every one, if Castiel had his way, would have one again. He wasn’t interested in books that found their way easily in the world. He liked the damaged ones.

***

Castiel was wandering through the memoirs when he heard the commotion--the bell, the wind, the door slamming shut again, and worst of all, the sound of some person—some wet person—shaking herself off.

“Excuse me," he called, weaving his way through the stacks toward the front. "This is a bookstore. Full of paper. Please do not get anything wet.”

“Um, pretty sure the carpet is, you know, carpet, dude. Not going to shake myself all over your precious books, okay?”

Castiel turned around the last corner with a frown. A red-headed woman was glaring at him fiercely from under her damp bangs. She reminded him of the students from the University, wrapped in too many incongruous layers: graphic t-shirt, sweater, scarf, all sort of clashing but together somehow right. Or at least appropriate to her apparent temperament. Castiel didn’t understand fashion, but he had a certain appreciation for it when a person’s clothes seemed to suit them. That appreciation was somewhat lessened by her proximity to the shelves, of course.

"So, I take it you're here for shelter, not to browse the stock."

“Yes, shelter, exactly. Not here to drip on your books,” she answered. “I work next door, and the boss is _supposed_ to be in there by five, and he’s _supposed_ to let me in at seven, but apparently he decided not to bother opening this morning, which, great! Yes, I would like a day off. Wonderful. It just would have been nice to, you know, know that before I got up early and broke my umbrella in the wind and got soaked banging on his door. And the storm was getting _worse,_ so I figured I’d take a chance on this place actually being open.”

Castiel sighed. This storm was not his problem, nor was the stray it had pushed through his door. But he was a practical man, accustomed to solving problems. He pulled a mug from the cabinet on the wall and turned on the electric kettle.

"What's your name?" he asked over his shoulder.

“Charlie. Charlie Bradbury.” She stuck her hand out to shake his, but pulled it back quickly when she realized she was still dripping. “Hi.”

“Hello, Charlie. I’m Castiel Milton. Water for tea will be ready in a few minutes," he promised, dropping a tea bag into the mug. "Meanwhile, I’m going to go upstairs for a towel.”

“Is there… a towel shop upstairs? Is this place, like, Douglas Adams themed? Cause, I mean, that would be very cool but also a little weird, and I like to know what kind of weirdness I’m getting myself into, y'know? Like, weird like a bad date or weird like a serial killer. Or just regular, kind of dorky but not actually dangerous weird.”

Castiel gave her an appraising eyebrow and considered smiling, but didn't.

“My apartment is upstairs. Although we do have an extensive collection of Douglas Adams books, which you will be welcome to look over when you're in a fit state to be allowed anywhere near them,” he answered. “I should take your sweater as well. I can put it in the dryer. Stop some of your dripping,” he said with a frown at his carpet.

“In unit? Man, you’re living the life,” Charlie answered, dropping her messenger bag and pulling off a scarf and one of her hoodies to hand to him. “Thanks. You’re a lifesaver.”

“You’re welcome. Make yourself comfortable. Comfortable away from the books,” he added as an afterthought. Charlie gave him a frown but sat obediently in a wooden chair by the front window, looking sullen and still quiet damp.

***

When Castiel came back downstairs, he was glad to see that Kevin, who encompassed his entire staff, had arrived for the day, made tea for himself and Charlie, and was keeping her occupied with an argument about physics in science fiction. He was a rather serious young man (Castiel was aware of what a surly pair they could make on their off days), but he was looking about as relaxed as Castiel had ever seen him. Charlie certainly had a way with people. She took the towel gratefully and started in on her hair, which appeared to have taken the brunt of the storm. Or perhaps it always looked like that; he wouldn’t be surprised.

Castiel couldn’t think of a plausible excuse to avoid socializing, so he poured himself some tea and joined them.

“So, you work next door?” he asked.

“Yep, at Mary’s. The bakery. I’m not allowed to bake, though. You set one tiny, barely noticeable fire, and suddenly you’re a ‘menace’ and ‘don’t know how to work a microwave’ and you’re getting kicked to the front to run the coffee service.”

“You set a fire with a microwave?” Kevin interjected.

“Just a small one. Hardly damaged anything. Sam’s eyebrows grew back,” she added meekly from under the towel. “In any case, I’m better at coffee, anyway.”

“Is Sam the owner?” Castiel vaguely remembered the realtor mentioning the name when Castiel had moved in; the bakery and the bookstore shared a building, although he understood that the bakery owner didn’t live on the premises like Castiel did.

“Yeah, and he’s going to have a lot of explaining to do when he gets back from wherever he is. I don’t get up at this hour of the day for my health, you know.”

“Would you like to use our phone to try to contact him?” Castiel realized a moment later that it sounded like he was trying to get rid of her, which was not entirely untrue, but he regretted it nonetheless.

“Thanks, but I already texted him. No answer. I guess I’ll just have to go home. Or, um, maybe hang out here? I mean, I know you’re not technically open yet, but I promise I won’t be a nuisance, okay? I just really like bookstores, and I didn’t even know you guys were here. No offense, but your windows are kinda dark, and you sort of look like a mob front that's been closed for, like, my entire life.”

“That’s what I keep saying,” Kevin agreed. “People probably think this place is abandoned.”

“Yeah, pretty much what I thought. But it was really raining, so I gave it a try, and bam! Here I am in paradise, kinda. I mean, it’s a really cool little place. Like a hobbit hole.”

Castiel frowned at the two of them. Charlie, he thought, was a change. Not something he'd been looking for and not something he was sure he wanted. But she might be good to have around. Kevin hadn’t thought about his college applications in at least fifteen minutes, which was almost certainly a new record. Besides, no matter how many people came through his front door, none would be going up the stairs to his sanctuary. If he wanted the business to stay open, he would have to content himself with that. And he would have to learn to deal with people. It might not hurt to practice.

“Miss Bradbury, I have a proposition for you,” he said. “You’re... not wrong about our curb appeal problem. So, in exchange for the tea and hospitality, I wonder if you might be willing to arrange our window display.”

“And by arrange, you mean make one from scratch because your window is practically empty and kind depressing?” she asked, grinning.

“That is... accurate, yes, if a little rude. You can use whatever books you find in the store, once you dry off, and your budget will be impossibly small.”

“Dude, _yes_. I would love that! Can it have a theme? Like, adventure novels or fantasy or something?”

“I leave that to your good judgement,” Castiel promised. "You're free to come and go as you please, whenever that door is unlocked." He knew, had always known, that he was not exactly a people person. And Kevin was… well, Kevin. But he could change. He could invite Charlie to make herself at home and see what happened.

Unfortunately, or fortunately, that was as much excitement as they got for the morning, as Charlie’s phone rang and she was called back to work. Castiel could hear her boss’s profuse apologies over the line, and he was glad. Someone like Charlie should work for someone who appreciates her, even if she was probably quite difficult to manage.

She returned Castiel’s towel with a smile and a thank you, and she promised to come back at the end of the day for her dry clothes, and then she vanished out into the rain again, hugging the side of the building for shelter. Castiel could see how eagerly she looked into the display window as she walked by, though, and he was suddenly anxious. Part of him was glad for the rain, what it had brought, and what it might continue to bring, but he walked back into the stacks with a furrowed brow and sneaking suspicion that things were going to get out of hand.

***

The rain continued unabated, one of those early Spring storms that would make the crocuses bloom if there was any sun at all tomorrow but for now made everything dark and unpleasant. Castiel was dusting an old brass umbrella stand he'd managed to dig out of the storage room—in case of more visitors—when the bell over the door jingled again. A man, a very tall man, smiled sheepishly as he walked in, coffee in one hand and a small paper bag in the other. Castiel frowned as the man tried awkwardly to close the door without spilling the coffee, his hair falling damply across his face and his nose almost bumping into the sign on the door that said "No Food or Drinks Allowed."

 _This man does not fit in here_ _,_ Castiel thought, looking him over. But it wasn't just his size, and it wasn't just the way he had to bend slightly to reach the door knob, or the way he filled the space when he stood again at his full height. It was something else about him that was too large. The rain beat the windows, the clouds rolled over the sky, and the lamps were only half on, but the man in front of him smiled with almost offensive brightness, filling the empty spaces of the store that Castiel had always hidden himself in, and he felt exposed under it. He sighed. He wished he hadn't sent Kevin to put away stock. He'd had enough tiring, non-bookselling-related social interactions for one day, and there was something about this man that suggested both "interesting" and "exhausting."

"Can I help you?" he asked, wearing his best customer-pleasing face. The bright smile dimmed as the man recognized professional courtesy. Castiel was glad, and not.

"Hey, my name's Sam Winchester. I think you met my friend Charlie earlier," the man said.

"Castiel Milton. And yes, I remember her. She was... very wet." Castiel answered. Sam just laughed.

"Yeah, that was my fault. Well, not entirely, but it's a long story."

Castiel stayed behind his counter and watched the man--Sam--walk toward him. After a moment of getting used to him, he seemed to Castiel to have become smaller and more manageable, and Castiel remembered that he had been in the middle of other tasks. He set down the umbrella stand, and Sam set the cup and the paper bag on the counter. Castiel could smell chocolate and coffee, and he smiled a little despite himself.

"I came over to apologize,” Sam said. “I brought a peace offering."

"That was unnecessary."

"Well, I also wanted to meet you. We've been neighbors for weeks now, and I never came by to welcome you to the building. It's nice to have you.” Sam offered his hand over the counter. "This place has been empty way too long.”

Castiel hesitated. Was this just a courtesy? Was it an offer of friendship? Sam continued to smile at him. He could refuse the hand, refuse the apology, but that, he knew, would not be understood as neutral. Sam would understand it as hostility, rather than a desire not to engage. Castiel did not want to make an enemy; he wanted to fit here, to feel he had a place. And that, it seemed, would mean making friends. Sam waited patiently, and Castiel took his hand in both of his own to make up for his hesitation.

"It is good to meet you, Sam Winchester."

"Likewise." Sam's smile brightened, and they released each other's hands. "Listen, I have to get back over there--can't leave Charlie in charge of the ovens too long--but you should come by some time. Drip on our floors if you want. You'd be welcome."

Castiel nodded, and Sam gave him a small wave as he headed back into the rain, keeping carefully to the side of the building as Charlie had done. It was only when he was gone that Castiel remembered that he hadn't thanked him for the peace offering. The coffee was too milky for his taste, but the pastry was filled with dark chocolate and strawberries, and it was perfect. Castiel wanted to tell Sam that, but he was long gone.

 

 


	2. April

Charlie, as it turned out, was not a person. She was the first front of an invasion. With the flowers of spring and the sunny weather came a brightly colored, cheerful invasion of people who completely disregarded the "No Food or Drinks" sign in the window and wandered the stacks with lattes and sat for hours talking. Talking about _what,_ Castiel didn't know, because he carefully avoided eavesdropping. It was strange. Having spent so long thinking about the idea of this place before he even owned it, thinking of it as  _his_ store, Castiel was startled to find that it was not really his at all. It belonged to the Neighborhood, that mass of people who lived or worked nearby and somehow became the heart of a place that he hadn't realized was missing one.

When the crowds became too much, he retreated to the children's section and left the running of things up front to Kevin. Kids did not want to talk about the weather or the newest bestsellers. Kids just wanted someone to read them a story, and they seemed to like it when Castiel did that. He liked that the children's corner was quiet and that the children respected him.

There were regulars among the kids, whose parents met for coffee next door and either came here to chat or simply sent the kids over. They had learned from somewhere that he had been in the Air Force and started calling him "Captain." That was not his rank, but he accepted and returned their salutes with absolute seriousness. They seemed to know instinctively not to ask the kinds of questions their parents sometimes did, and soon Castiel knew their favorite stories by heart.

He’d hoped for the store to succeed in some small way, but now that things were going well, it was overwhelming. It left everything better, he knew that; he wanted to be finding homes for his books, and there were moments when he was really, sincerely happy, but he was unsure how to handle it all. He settled for waiting and seeing, letting the hordes wash over him by day, trying to welcome them as best he could, helping his books to find the people they’d be most at home with, and retreating to his apartment at night, his mercifully quiet apartment, full of known, unoccupied spaces and his own carefully arranged thoughts.

If Sam wandered through those thoughts occasionally, it was only natural. He was confusing to Castiel--not quite a friend, but something more than a stranger, or at least he might become something more--and Castiel wasn't entirely certain what he wanted him to be. He was not accustomed to letting people into his life easily. Charlie had broken in like a thief in the night, and there was no getting rid of her (Castiel thought with fond irritation), but Sam... He had held himself back, standing there with a smile and a cup of coffee, with an invitation but no demands. And two weeks later, he hadn't been back, and it made Castiel wonder in an undefined sort of way about seeing him again.

***

The bakery was closed on Mondays. That's when Charlie usually came to work on the window, which was slowly becoming an elaborate diorama of Smaug flying over Laketown ("movie tie-in, dude! People are gonna love it!"). It was a Monday when Sam came back to the bookstore. He had another paper bag with him, but no coffee this time, and Castiel was hopeful. What exactly he hoped for, he wasn’t certain; there was something about Sam being here, Sam being close by, that lit him up a little inside. He hid it by being polite.

"Welcome back," he said as Sam approached the counter. The noise of the other customers moved in and out of his attention, frustrating Castiel. Kevin was better at this; something about his studiousness carried over into his careful focus on the customers. Castiel, on the other hand, hearing more than two or three voices, anticipating questions and needs, became overwhelmed more easily than he would like. He wished they would browse like he would, quietly and privately, but he understood that not everyone was like him, and he settled for trying to tune them out. Letting Sam’s presence stand as a barrier between him and them. "What can I help you with?"

"Kinda the opposite, I think," Sam answered, dropping the bag--two bags, actually, now that Castiel saw them up close--on the counter. "Charlie told me how much you liked the strawberry croissant. It's a new recipe, actually, and I need help deciding between a few variations. I figured you'd be a good person to ask."

Charlie must have felt Castiel's glare on her back, because she turned around and shrugged, and he suspected she was barely hiding a grin. So that was how this was going to go, Castiel thought. He shouldn't have said anything to her about it. But he didn't regret it exactly. He just made a mental note to be more careful whom he told about his chocolate preferences in future.

"Technically, food isn't allowed in here," Castiel answered wearily, gesturing to the sign on the door and refusing to give up the fight, despite its futility. Sam frowned, probably wondering whether Castiel was simply making an excuse, and Castiel wasn't sure whether he was or not. "And I cannot leave Kevin alone when we are so busy."

"How about the steps," Charlie called over helpfully, giving up the pretense that she hadn't been eavesdropping. Castiel did not appreciate the suggestion. "They're technically part of your apartment, not the store, right? Far enough from the books, anyway. And besides, I'm here, too. I can totally help."

"Yeah, how about the steps, Cas?" Sam asked, tilting his head toward them with a small smile. "Promise I won't take too much of your time."

***

The wooden staircase between the store and the apartment had a turn in it, and the view was blocked after the landing by a wall. Castiel took Sam just far up enough that the customers couldn't see them easily. Their position also quieted the noise somewhat, which was an improvement.

“So, you live up there?” Sam asked, gesturing toward the door at the top of the steps. He looked ready to go have a look, when Castiel grabbed his wrist. He only held it loosely, but he realized immediately that his behavior was crossing a boundary. Sam looked surprised but didn’t pull away.

“Please don't go up there,” Castiel said mildly, releasing Sam's wrist. “I prefer to keep that private.”

Sam only nodded and made no move to go farther up the stairs, and Castiel was grateful. He was also grateful that Sam did not take advantage of the narrow staircase to sit too close; instead, he sat just below Castiel and to his left, looking up at him with an eager but serious set to his face.

"Now, the one you had before was regular dark chocolate," Sam began, all business. "These two are milk and bitter chocolate." He pulled them out of the bag, not seeming to mind the chocolate smearing on his fingers. They were obviously still warm, and Castiel wondered whether Sam spent all his days, even his days off, in the bakery. It made him like the baker a little more, thinking that his work at the bakery, like Castiel's own at the bookstore, was a labor of love. "I think I know what I prefer,” Sam confessed, “but I need a second opinion."

Castiel contemplated the two before taking the milk chocolate pastry from Sam's hand. It was the one he expected to like least, and he was correct. It was over-sweet compared with the first one he'd tried. He wondered whether he should find a diplomatic way to explain his response, but his face must have given him away, because Sam nodded.

"Yeah, that's what I thought, too. Charlie likes the really sweet ones, but it's just too much, isn't it?"

"For me, yes," Castiel answered, leaning down to drop the rest of the croissant back in the bag. The movement brought him unexpectedly close to Sam, and he was startled to feel his heart beat faster at the proximity. He sat up straight again, unsettled, but not quite in a bad way. "And this one is bitter?"

"Yep," Sam said, handing it over. Castiel let their fingers touch experimentally and enjoyed a brief feeling of elation at the contact. "I've been trying to use it more lately. It's unjustly neglected, in my opinion." The stairway wasn’t well lit, but Castiel could see Sam’s smile easily enough. Smiling for the touch of Castiel’s fingers or the bitter chocolate, it didn’t matter. His smile was beautiful.

Castiel thought of his damaged books and took a big bite.

It had been easy for Castiel to go for days, even weeks, without touching anyone. To be careful of the space around his body and what was allowed to violate it. He had developed a way of living in the world like a ghost, touching his books, the soil in his garden, but not people. It wasn’t conscious, but it was comfortable, and he had forgotten, or perhaps had never realized, how cold it could be to live like that, how warm and comforting it could be to _touch._ It made him sensitive, he realized, now that it was so easy to touch Sam. Made him feel every touch so much more than he might have if it were ordinary.

Castiel's fingers touched Sam's, and they both touched the pastry. Their legs almost touched on the narrow steps. Castiel looked at Sam's hand, and he felt Sam's eyes on his face, hopeful. He tasted the chocolate and the strawberries, and he thought about Sam's hands. He closed his eyes and let himself be lost in the taste, which was too bitter, but Castiel didn't care. He wanted that.

"What do you think?" Sam asked quietly. Castiel opened his eyes to meet Sam's. Sam  _cared_ , he realized. He wanted to know Castiel's thoughts. He wasn't flirting, or wasn't just flirting, and he wasn't just being neighborly. He actually wanted to know.

"It's too bitter," Castiel answered honestly. "But it's my favorite." He took another bite. Sam grinned, and the stairwell filled with light.


	3. May

Castiel had his routines, and he liked them. They made him feel that even in civilian life there was some order to answer to, even if it was one he created himself. It made him feel, even on the difficult days, that he had accomplished something, if he could only follow his routines and do whatever he was supposed to do that day.

Sam didn't try to change that. He seemed to understand, after their first few encounters, that Castiel did not like to be disturbed unexpectedly. So he looked for empty spaces to fit himself into: he asked Castiel when his lunch was on Mondays so he could bring over whatever he'd been working on that morning for a consultation. Castiel hesitated; he ate alone in his apartment. It was his quiet moment in the day, and he did not want to give it up, but he didn't know how to say that. How to say "I would rather be alone than with you" without being cruel. But Sam just nodded at his silence.

"Or I could come another time, whenever you want. Or a different day. You just... I really like having your opinion on things. You’re honest, and you were right about the bitter chocolate, you know. I just had to add powdered sugar to mellow it out."

Castiel let out his breath. He was accustomed to people finding him strange and abrupt, not appreciating his honesty. It seemed that Sam saw him differently than most people did, though, and perhaps more clearly. The idea was frightening in the same way that flying a mission was frightening, full of expectation, anxiety, and hope.

"Late Monday, as before,” he finally answered. “That works for me. Around four; I could usually use a break then," he said. If Sam understood the compliment in that, he didn’t say anything, and Castiel was glad. He didn’t want to talk about how Sam made him feel, how most people wore him out, but Sam gave him room to breathe. Sam just nodded and promised he’d be there.

Castiel had said "around four," but Sam understood, and he came at precisely four o'clock every Monday. Castiel could have set a watch by him, or by the way his own heart sped up and his customer-smile turned genuine unfailingly at a quarter to. Charlie noticed, of course. So did Kevin, after she elbowed him and pointed and whispered loudly enough that even Sam--patient, easygoing Sam--glared at her. But somehow Castiel didn't mind. Once he and Sam were safely ensconced above the staircase landing, the rest of the store seemed far, far away.

***

They talked about the usual things when Sam visited, the things you say and ask when you're getting to know someone but don't want to pry too much. Sam told him about his brother, Dean, whose fault it was that Charlie had been locked out that first day.

"His girlfriend, Lisa, who he's been with for, like, years, whose son he's basically raised as his own, proposed to him,” Sam explained, offering Castiel the bag of beignets they were sharing. “Because she knew he wasn’t going to get around to it, and it’s so obviously where they’re heading, she figured why not? And my brother, being the way he is, panicked, said he needed time to think about it, then drove hours to get to my place. Apparently, his first response to being proposed to was ‘shit, I need to go wake up Sam at 3AM so he can watch me freak out and talk me down’."

"Was the situation resolved?" Castiel considered the powdered sugar on his own fingers, finally settling on licking them clean because it was practical and because he felt he could assume that Sam would consider it a compliment.

"Yeah. He said yes, like he shoulda done in the first place," Sam said with a laugh. “And now he wants to get married as fast as possible, like now that it’s on the table, he can’t wait.” Castiel wondered what it was like to have family who came to you when they desperately needed advice. He wondered what it would be like to have someone to go to.

“It must be nice,” he said, “to see your brother so happy. Your parents must be glad, too.” Castiel’s own parents would not have approved of their children living with anyone before marriage, much less with a child.

“They, uh, they’re gone,” Sam answered, clearing his throat, and Castiel stared a moment. He shouldn’t have said that. Why had he said that? Because he wanted to know more about Sam’s happy family, he supposed. But he shouldn’t have… “But yeah,” Sam was saying, “Mom would have loved Lisa. Dad would probably say he was glad Dean was getting his life together. He was, uh, he wasn’t sentimental.”

“I’m sorry, Sam.”

“Thanks.” Sam smiled, but it wasn’t the way he usually smiled, and Castiel wasn’t sure what to do. He wondered if sharing his own story would be self-centered or whether it might make Sam feel better. Knowing that they had both lost something.

So he told Sam a little about his own family, the distinguished history of military and political service, the way they'd treated him differently after he'd left the Air Force. It wasn't explicit, he hadn't been disowned exactly, but the affection had faded from their relationships, until he felt that none of them, himself included, wished to continue to pretend they had anything in common. He simply wasn't one of them anymore.

"That sounds rough," Sam said. "Are you in touch with any of them?"

"My mother sends a card every Christmas listing the family's accomplishments for the year. I'm never included, but my brother Balthazar always adds a sarcastic postscript for my benefit. And my older sister, Anna, left the family years ago. We talk sometimes." Castiel took a sip of coffee. It had been a while, he realized, since he'd called Anna. He should invite her to come see the store. Maybe it was time to start building new bridges. He wondered, frowning, whether she’d be willing after all this time. They’d exchanged harsh words when she left, because he’d been young and foolish and hadn’t recognized that she was doing the right thing for herself. Neither of them had brought it up since, but he wondered if he could apologize now, whether their irregular phone calls might become something more if he owned up to his old mistakes.

Sam rested his head against the wall and looked up at Castiel thoughtfully.

"I bet you're a good brother," Sam said. He sounded sure, and Castiel laughed a little, unable to agree but not wanting to contradict Sam’s good opinion of him. He shifted until their legs bumped together; it was an accident, but neither of them moved.

"I haven't had enough experience to know," he finally answered. "But I'd like to be. And I know you are. Not everyone would tolerate their brother waking them up for a romantic crisis at three in the morning."

"Well, that is true. But most people don't have a brother like Dean. He's… He really looked after me, after--" Sam stopped abruptly and stared at his shoes.

"Come on," Cas said. "Help me finish these beignets."

They didn't talk any more about family that day, but Castiel held onto that moment and thought it over later. Somehow he’d thought of Sam as unbroken, with his big smiles and easy friendship. He’d assumed that people like Sam were that way because they’d never been hurt, and people like Castiel were the way they were because they had. It was the first time he wondered whether he could be fixed, or could at least learn to carry his past in a way that would let him smile more. He wondered whether he would still be himself if he did. The thought made him anxious.


	4. June

The bookstore was closed on Thursdays, for no particular reason other than Castiel liking Thursdays and preferring to spend them doing things that did not involve so many people. Thursdays were for sitting in the park reading, or working in his rooftop garden, or driving out into the countryside to watch the colors of the fields change, turning bright green in the early summer sun and bordered by chaotic bursts of wildflowers. And soon, suddenly but easily, Thursdays became days for visiting Sam.

Mary’s was remarkable, the reviews said. World-class chocolate. Expertly poured coffee. Diner-style ambiance and checked tablecloths hiding a surprisingly sophisticated menu. It was really only a surprise to reviewers, of course. To the regulars, it was just Mary's. Or Sam's Mary's. To a lot of people, it was home.

Castiel went to Mary's early, as soon as it opened (but never before, although Charlie had hinted that she’d leave the door unlocked for him). It reminded him of his friend Rachel's house, where he'd spent as many afternoons as he could growing up. Rachel's family was poor, he knew, although he wasn't supposed to talk about it. His parents had told him that such things were embarrassing, and no one would thank you for bringing them up. He never really understood that, though, because Rachel and her mother were two of the happiest people he had ever known. They had welcomed him so well that he sometimes found himself at their front door before he remembered that he had meant to walk home.

Mary's was like Rachel's. The tablecloths didn't match, and the wallpaper was faded but cheerful, and with spring had come fresh flowers at every table. There were photos all over the walls: photos of Sam, of Charlie, of the bakery and the regular customers, of Sam's brother, his brother's fiancée and son. Sam showed off pictures of his nephew happily, saying Dean was a terrible influence on Ben but a great dad, too. There was also a picture of Sam and Dean's parents, but Sam didn't say much about them, and Castiel didn't ask. He was still new to… whatever it was that was between them. Still figuring out where their boundaries ought to be and erring, more often than not, on the side of distance. Still bringing wildflowers back to his apartment after his drives, even though he wanted to bring them to Sam. For the tables, of course.

On Thursdays, though, he let that distance collapse a little. He sat under the picture of the Winchesters, Mary and John, at his favorite table on the back wall, and Charlie served him the first cup of coffee, and he’d read for a while. The first time, he’d brought _The Neverending Story_. It had been a last minute decision; the worn old book had looked wrong on the table by his front door, and he decided he _should_ bring something to read. Something to occupy himself with if Sam and Charlie were busy, as they almost certainly would be, and keep him from feeling awkward, sitting alone. It quickly became his habit; he kept the book close when he was at home, but he _read_ it at the bakery, leaning close over the book and letting the smell of chocolate and cinnamon and coffee mellow the parts that carried dark memories, lifting him out of the sadder moments, giving the old story new life.

When he could, when things were in the oven or dough was rising, Sam would bring out something sweet, but not too sweet, and sit with Castiel for a while. Sometimes they played chess with one of the sets Sam left out for customers, and they were pretty evenly matched. For some reason, Sam always won when they played checkers though, and it frustrated Castiel to no end. Sam thought it was because Cas's reliance on strategy tripped him up, made him overthink things. Castiel thought there was simply a strategy that was eluding him, and he was determined to figure it out.

They talked about what they'd wanted to be when they grew up, and Castiel admitted that although the military was the family business, he had grown to love it and was sorry to have had to leave. He referred vaguely to an injury by way of explanation, and Sam didn’t press the issue. Sam confessed that he had been forced to walk away from law school, which had been his dream but never his father’s, for financial reasons. He’d gotten a job here, and eventually the former owner had retired and left the place in Sam’s hands. This wasn’t where he had expected to end up, he said, but he was happy here. Neither pushed, but they both felt easier for sharing those pieces of themselves.

Thursdays were good days. Castiel didn't think too hard about why, but he really didn't have to, either.


	5. July

The wall between the bakery and the bookstore gradually, unintentionally, became less and less substantial. When Charlie asked for books of poetry to woo Dorothy, a bakery regular, Castiel gave her an armful. It must have worked, because soon Dorothy was coming to him asking for a good romantic book for starting a book club. Preferably one he thought Charlie might like, but he wasn’t to tell Charlie she’d said that on pain of death.

The book club was an irregular thing, moving back and forth between the bakery and bookstore based on which was more crowded on any given day, and they were welcome in either place. Castiel found he enjoyed watching them, watching Charlie and Dorothy in particular as they carefully moved their chairs a little closer together and stole looks when each thought the other wasn’t looking. He considered whether a love seat might fit between a few of the shelves, but set the idea aside and scolded Charlie about public displays of affection instead. Didn’t want anyone to say he was getting soft. Charlie just made a comment about sitting on the steps with Dorothy that earned her a glare and an order to “take your insinuations and your girlfriend elsewhere,” which she promptly ignored.

When Sam talked about putting up shelves for books in the bakery, Castiel volunteered to provide the stock. He sent the first box over with Kevin, suggesting that he ask Sam for advice about his college applications while he was there. He didn't see Kevin again for two and a half hours, and when he got back, he was completely useless for the rest of the afternoon, set up at the store computer with a notebook and three different color pens, taking notes on schools.

When customers began to come in with books from the bakery, asking for sequels and recommendations, Castiel was more gratified than he thought he’d be. He didn’t want to do things just for the business or for profit, didn’t want to push himself or his store on anyone, but here were people who were already falling in love with books. He just had to nudge them in the right direction.

He told Sam about it one Thursday morning in the bakery, about all the books he'd found homes for because of their joint venture, about how people's faces lit up when they learned that their new favorite stories were parts of a series or he could point them to other books like them. He didn't even realize how he'd been going on until Sam laughed.

“What? Have I been rambling? I know, I don't usually--”

“No, it's okay, Cas.” Sam hurried to reassure him. “It's just... I've never seen you smile so much. The way you talk about your books, it's like... like they're your kids, and they just got into ivy league colleges.”

Castiel looked down into his coffee. He was still smiling despite himself, but he was embarrassed. He knew most people didn't get so excited about things like this. But most people probably didn't feel anxious waking up in their own apartments or carry around battered copies of _The Neverending_ _Story_ like security blankets. Most people knew how to have normal conversations without being taciturn or grumpy or rambling. Most people weren't Castiel.

“Hey, come back,” Sam was saying, touching his hand lightly, and Castiel looked up into his eyes, which were soft and confused. “It's a compliment, Cas. I like hearing you talk about the books. I like--” a shy smile flickered across Sam's face, and he glanced down at the plaid tablecloth. “I like how much you care.”

Cas was glad that Charlie called Sam away just then, because he was sure he was blushing as much as he was smiling, and Sam was much the same, and it was almost too much. He was almost too happy to stand it.

***

“What’s going on with you?” Kevin asked him a few days later.

“What do you mean?”

“You just waved at that customer when she came in. You _waved_ , Castiel. I think you even smiled a little.” Kevin looked both concerned and impressed. Castiel glared at him.

“I am capable of being a welcoming, courteous proprietor, you know,” he said. “I am also capable of firing you for asking invasive personal questions.” Kevin didn't look especially scared by the threat.

“Yeah, I know.” He went back to sorting comic books for a few minutes before casually adding, “how's Sam?”

“I know what you're implying, and you can stop,” Castiel answered. “Sam is my friend, and yes, maybe I've learned some things from him about dealing with people, but that doesn't mean there's anything more going on.”

“Never said there was.” Kevin stopped sorting for a minute and turned to look Castiel square in the eye. “But if there was, it wouldn't be a bad thing. You know that, right? Like, having a crush on somebody isn't a sign of weakness, you know?”

Castiel made an excuse to leave Kevin with the register. This was not a conversation he was interested in having, not with his teenage employee, and certainly not in the store.

Later that night, though, Castiel was sitting on his couch in his pajamas and feeling very small and confused, trying read and unable to focus. He needed to talk to _someone_ about things, he realized, because the conversations happening in his head were going in useless circles, just wearing him down and going nowhere. So Castiel picked up the phone. It had been months since he and Anna had talked, and she sounded surprised to hear from him (he was surprised to find himself calling, if he was being honest with himself), but she sounded glad as well. They talked for a while about the usual things, 'how are you' and 'have you talked to mom', 'the firm has doubled its pro-bono work' and 'the bookstore is taking off', but Castiel needed something more than the routine small talk that had somehow turned into all they had. He needed his sister.

“Anna, I've been thinking about what happened when you left.”

“Cas--”

“Please, let me finish. I've regretted my part in all of it for a long time. I am... Anna, I am so sorry that I didn't stand up for you. I should have. I should have had the courage to fight.”

“You were a kid,” Anna said quietly, but Castiel could hear the emotion in her voice.

“Yes, but so were you. I never should have let you go alone.” He stood and walked to the window overlooking the street, his hand tight on the phone, his body all useless energy and regret. Anna was quiet for a moment; Castiel watched cars circle, looking for parking for the movie theater across the street.

“I'm sorry, too,” she finally said. “When you came back, I should have... I don't know. I should have been there. What you went through...”

One of the movies must have just let out, because people were pouring out of the theater into the street below, laughing and holding each other's hands and arms, walking side-by-side and wrapped around each other despite the warmth of the summer night. Castiel rested his forehead against the glass and closed his eyes.

“I miss you,” he heard himself say. He'd been missing her for years, but god knew they weren't raised to say things like that. They'd never learned how, but not having the words to say something didn't mean you never felt it. “There's so much I want to talk to you about, and I know we're both different people than we were, but I miss you, Anna.”

There was a whispered conversation on the other end of the line, someone asking Anna if she was okay.

“Is that Jo?” Anna's roommate was police detective; he'd taken to calling the pair of them “Law and Order.” It was a bad joke, but they didn't have a lot of them.

“Yeah,” Anna took a deep breath. “Um, actually, there's a lot I want to talk to you about, too. Like about me and Jo.”

***

They'd been together for two years, Castiel learned. Jo's mother approved, but nobody in Anna's family knew, until now. They were in love. Castiel couldn't stop smiling; Anna's decision to trust him was overwhelming, and he missed her more than ever.

He told her about Sam, just the facts, just that they were friends, but he could tell she heard something else in his voice, and it made him recognize it, too. In the way he hesitated and couldn't find his words, but also in the way that, once he started talking about Sam, he had trouble stopping.

“You talk about him like you talk about your books,” she said. She was right; he knew it as soon as she said it. Cas's heart skipped a beat; he was maybe starting, maybe had been starting for a while now, to feel something like love.


	6. August

The heat of summer brought more crowds during the day, mostly (Castiel assumed) because the bookstore offered shade and air conditioning. He watched the condensation drip from their iced coffees and frowned, but he also invested in a few stone coasters to scatter around on the various shelves and display tables in the hope that they would be put to good use. Condensation aside, Castiel was finding it less difficult to manage the influx of people, easier to steer them toward what they wanted, less aggravating to tune out their chatter and to focus his attentions on one person at a time. He wasn’t sure how or when he had become someone people greeted with smiles and by name, but he found himself choosing, more and more often, to smile back. Instead of hiding with the kids, he spent most of his time with their parents. The kids often came to find _him_ , though, insisting that it had been too long, and they needed him to read the next chapter of _The Neverending Story_ , because none of them could do Gmork’s voice right and they needed to know what happens.

It seemed wrong, with all the people who came in and out every day and with all the work Charlie and Kevin had put into make the bookstore livable, that it should continue without a name. Castiel talked it over with them both; he also talked it over with Sam, ostensibly because their businesses were neighbors, but really because Sam had come to him for advice so many times. Castiel wanted that to go both ways. He wanted, although he didn't think of it this way or in these words, to ask Sam to be part of his life in some way.

The name chosen by general consensus was Milton's. Castiel had resisted the idea at first, not entirely happy with giving the store his family’s name, but part of him was a little pleased at the idea of claiming it for himself. Besides, it would also be named after one of the great authors of English literature. A man who, with the help of his friends and family, overcame blindness to complete his masterpiece, _Paradise Lost._

“I have not forgotten,” Castiel told Charlie, “that you called this place 'paradise' when you first came here, when it was anything but. You saw the potential here, and I am very, very grateful to you.”

“Be careful, Cas,” she answered. “You almost didn't sound grumpy there for a minute.” He glared at her for a moment before they both laughed, but she was blushing, and Castiel squeezed her hand to be sure she knew how much he meant what he said.

It was strange, the way these people had become part of his life. How they found places for themselves around him and seemed even to _want_ to be there. He came down to the empty store in the mornings, and for the first time, it _felt_ empty. When no one was there, it simply wasn't the place he had come to love so much, and that worried him. What if the business failed? What if the people tried to push too hard, and it became too much for him to handle? How could he be everything his friends needed him to be and still keep himself apart, still keep his sanctuary at the top of the stairs? He had more questions than answers, and he still had more nightmares than anyone should.

It was Anna who suggested a grand opening party.

“You need to stop worrying so much, Castiel. You need to _celebrate_ something,” she advised when he called to tell her about the store's new name.

“I've been open for months. I can't have a grand opening now, it would seem strange.”

“Since when do you worry about seeming strange?”

_Since Sam_ , he thought. But Anna misinterpreted his silence.

“Sorry, I didn't mean that in a bad way. But Cas, you never bothered about what people thought of you before, and I'm sure your friends and customers like you for exactly who you are. It's not like you're using your powers of persuasion to get them to spend time with you,” she teased.

“That is true. I've done rather a lot of the opposite, in fact, and it never seems to work.”

“So, that's settled. You'll have a grand opening, unveil the new sign, and if anybody gives you a hard time, send them to me.”

“You're a good sister, Anna.”

“Yes, I am. But thanks for saying it.”

Charlie, of course, was put to work crafting a window display for the grand opening, one that would fit the theme of _Paradise Lost_ without being too horrifying for the children (or, more accurately, for their parents). She appreciated the challenge but resented the limit on fake blood. Kevin supervised the design and painting of the sign—in colors that complemented the sign over Mary's, though that could have been a coincidence—as though he had been put in charge of a major military operation.

Sam, of course, insisted on catering the party.

“You’re going to have to let us have food, you know, Cas. I see the way you glare at that sign every time somebody comes in with something they’re not supposed to, but nobody’s going to come to a party without food.”

“Alright,” Cas had answered with a sigh. “I suppose you are correct. But this is a special occasion; don’t take this to mean we’re going to start sitting by the books when you come over,” he added. “It’s the stairs for you or nothing.” Sam’s quiet smile reassured Castiel that he’d understood that his complaints weren’t serious, and he was glad. Sam made everything easier, just by hearing the things Castiel couldn’t say.

“Wouldn’t change that for the world,” Sam answered. “And I happen to like sitting on the stairs with you.”

***

The morning of the party, Castiel woke up with a start long before his alarm was set to go off; he’d been dreaming of his plane going down again, of fire that covered the instruments and made it impossible to see. It was stupid, he scolded himself. Today was going to be a good day, a celebration. There was no reason for him to be having bad dreams. But he couldn’t shake the sensation of falling. He thought about calling Sam, but no. That wasn’t something they did, and how could he explain that? I had a nightmare and wanted you? Sam wasn’t his mother, and Castiel wasn’t a child. He took a cold shower and went up to the roof to make sure the garden beds hadn’t dried out and to pick the tomatoes that were ready to eat. With careful planning, with the right dampness in the soil, the right amount of shade from the summer sun, and he could make things grow. That, at least, was comforting. After a while, he felt steady enough to start his day, and he went downstairs.

***

Sam hadn't quite followed Castiel's instructions, but the only major change he made was to add a tray of bitter chocolate croissants to the offerings. Castiel wasn't sure how to feel, knowing what the gesture represented, but he settled on happiness, deciding to admit no worry to the celebrations. This was not a day to run and hide. Later, he would retreat to his apartment and process everything, relax with a nice safe emptiness around him, but for now he would simply be happy and let everyone in. His friends, his customers, and his neighbor who had become something more.

And Anna. Anna, who had made plans to visit local legal aide clinics for consultations so that she could be in the area on the right day. Who had arranged for her office to run without her while she was gone even though nothing happened there without her say-so. She’d rearranged everything because Castiel had asked her if she might be able to come, and even though she could only be there for a few hours, it meant everything to him.

Castiel was standing between Anna and Sam when Kevin pulled down the curtains, unveiling the sign and Charlie's new window display, which everyone applauded (there was perhaps a little more blood than Castiel had authorized, but nobody seemed too shocked). He and Sam laughed together when Dorothy pulled Charlie in for a celebratory kiss that left their friend, for once in her life, entirely speechless. It was perfect. All of it. When Kevin called everyone inside for cake, Anna turned to hug Castiel and tell him how proud she was of him. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had told him that. Maybe Rachel, but it had been too long for him to be sure. He held her tightly before letting her follow the crowd inside, unable to think of the right thing to say.

Castiel stayed outside for a moment, so overwhelmed with pride and gratitude that he couldn't move. Sam stayed with him, not saying anything, not intruding, just being there with him, and Castiel couldn't help himself. He reached out and took Sam's hand, heart in his throat and full of feelings he couldn't put a name to. It was only for a second, then he let go again, but Sam smiled that too-bright smile, and Castiel knew, as they walked into Milton’s together, that it would be alright.

That night, Castiel took the “No Food or Drinks” sign off the door for good.


	7. September

Castiel woke up in a cold sweat from a dream he couldn't remember, shoving the too-heavy blankets away until he felt like he could breathe again. It was the middle of the night, and a fragment of light from the street lay on the floor beside the window where the curtain wasn't quite closed. Otherwise, everything was dark, and quiet, and calm. Castiel went to the window; it was already open, but he pushed it up another inch and closed his eyes, letting the cool air and the smell of the night rain steady him. It had been a dream about flying, he remembered. About the space above the clouds and the emptiness below. They were happening more often, and he didn’t know how to make them stop. All he could do was wrap himself in a blanket and go up to the roof, _The Neverending Story_ under his arm and determined to forget the dream entirely.

The next day was Sunday, but he went to the bakery before work anyway. He told himself it was because he needed coffee, but it was Sam's surprised smile that finally pushed away the last pieces of the night before and made him feel he could face the day.

"Hey, not your usual day, is it?" Sam asked.

"I know. I just... woke up with a craving." Castiel didn't say what for, but he thought that Sam understood, because he gave him a quieter smile and lifted the counter to invite him back into the kitchen.

It was colder than Castiel thought it would be, maybe because it was so early. He could tell by the high ceilings that they must be under his crawlspace. It was strange, but not unpleasant, to be reminded of the proximity.

"I want you to try something," Sam said. Castiel smiled; good things always followed that sentence. This time, it was candied lemon peel, dipped in dark chocolate. It was almost perfect.

"It could be--"

"--more bitter?" Sam finished for him with a laugh. "It’s already lemon peel, Cas. Not everybody appreciates the darker stuff like you do."

"Well, nobody's perfect."

"Yeah, I suppose," Sam answered. He turned his attention back to dipping the peels. "Some people are close, though," he added, giving Cas a quick, almost bashful look before focusing on the work at hand.

There had been moments in Castiel’s life when he had felt like the world was falling away from under his feet, when he was suddenly struck by the realization that what he had may not always be there. When he had realized how easy it could be to lose everything and how necessary it was to take hold of whatever happiness was in front of him, if he only had the courage.

Castiel thought about flying above the clouds and how he never would again, and he put his head on Sam's shoulder, and he wrapped one arm around Sam's waist, and he held his breath. He felt Sam breathe deeply before leaning into him.

“Glad you came today, Cas,” he said quietly, hands still on the counter in front of them.

“Me, too, Sam,” Cas answered.

***

Castiel's routine began to shift. A little at a time, not on purpose, but enough that he began to feel like something was really happening in his life for the first time in a long time. Days when he’d leave early and let Kevin close because he wanted to drive out to the country and see if the trees had started to turn. Days when he stayed open late because Sam had come over and was reading in a chair in the corner or helping Kevin with his college applications, and Castiel never wanted to ask him to leave and besides, there were so many books he hadn’t read yet. Why not join him? Days when he ate his lunch at the counter and watched the people wander the store and thought that he could taste the sunshine in his rooftop zucchini.

He couldn't ignore that it didn't scare him. Not like it should have. Instead, it made him strangely, quietly happy, like a constant, barely noticeable electric hum just under his skin. But there was an apprehension there, too. There was the sense that whatever this happiness was, it wasn't his to push away, and it wasn't his to keep. It only existed because of Sam, because there was something about him that made Castiel want to be close to him. But whether he thought about losing Sam or about being close to him always, there came that same thread of anxiety. The one that said, “you don't get to choose.” So when Sam finally asked him out on a real date, he didn't know what to do.

They were sitting on the stairs on a Tuesday evening, after Sam had closed for the day and the bookstore was mostly quiet. Sam still sat on the step below Cas, but it had been different the last few weeks. They tangled themselves up more than they used to, not bothering to give each other space and neither of them wanting it. That day, Sam's hand rested on Cas's knee, and Cas laid his own hand over it, and they hardly spoke at all.

“We should do something,” Sam finally said.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean go somewhere. Together.” He was sitting very still, but he looked up at Castiel eagerly. “I'd like to go on a date with you, Cas.”

And there it was. That small anxiety that had been following him for weeks, the one that said that things would change, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Part of him wanted to say yes, and part of him wanted to run away, and he didn't want to say no, but he also needed not to be touching Sam just then. He tried not to be abrupt, but he took his hand away, and Sam's face dropped as he did the same, withdrawing until they weren't touching at all.

“We don't have to--”

“Wait, Sam,” Cas closed his eyes for a second to gather his words. “Will you... will you come upstairs with me? I want to show you something.” His heart was beating out of his chest when he opened his eyes. Sam nodded, and then Castiel was standing up, turning to lead the way upstairs. Neither of them said another word as he let Sam into the apartment and closed the door behind them.

It was strange for Castiel to see Sam there, in the careful precision of his living room. He was struck suddenly by how grey the place was, how utilitarian. It had felt right for so long, but suddenly it seemed all... off. As if it didn't fit anymore, not with Sam there. Castiel took Sam's hand then and walked him to the couch. They sat down beside each other, and Castiel let go again, knotting his own hands together and looking at the floor.

“You're the first person who's been in here, besides me, since I moved in,” he finally said. “I don't... I haven't been very open to having people in my life. Not since I had to leave the Air Force. I lost people there--we all did--and then I was injured.” He wasn't sure he wanted to keep going; maybe that would be enough, maybe that would explain... but Sam should know, if not everything, at least some of the important pieces. He took a deep breath. “I lost part of my vision. It’s not too bad during the day, but it is inadequate at night, and I was a pilot.” The past tense stung. He almost never said it out loud. “The honorable discharge, it… it took away everyone I had. All of that... it's made me cautious, probably too much so. I think you understand that, Sam, and you haven't pushed me or asked me to change, and that means everything to me. You never asked me to change, but you... you changed everything.

“I want to say yes. I never thought I'd want that with anybody. But I'm not sure... not sure I can, if that makes sense. I wanted to bring you up here so you'd know how much I mean it, Sam, when I say that I want to. Do you... do you understand?”

Sam was quiet for a moment, and Castiel realized he was waiting for him to look at him, so he did. He was expecting disappointment, thoughtfulness, confusion, but Sam didn't seem to be feeling any of those things. Cas blinked, not trusting what he saw, but it was real: Sam was smiling. That wide, bright smile that was so overwhelming it kind of took Cas's breath away.

“You really want to say yes? Even if you can't yet, you want to?”

“Yes. I really do.”

“Okay.” Sam nodded. “Okay, I can wait.”

“Thank you,” Cas said, voice a little shaky with relief. “Thanks.”

“Thank you, for bringing me up here. I know how much that means, Cas. I understand.”

When Cas walked him to the door, Sam turned to stop him.

“Before we go back, I just want to say, me too. You changed everything for me, too.”

They reached out at the same time, and they held each other for a long while before going back downstairs. Three weeks later, Castiel said a nervous 'yes.' A week after that, he changed the bookstore's schedule so that it would be closed on a Monday, and he and Sam went on their first date.


	8. October

When two people start living their lives in tandem, they find, usually accidentally, where the minefields are. The things they do not talk about, the things they do not ask about. And it's possible to live like that for some time, feeling okay, good even. But there's an anxiety that comes with it, letting somebody into your life and knowing at any moment they might collide with one of your explosive places, might blow you both apart. For a while, Castiel and Sam were brilliantly happy to ignore those minefields.

Their first date was a quiet drive to the country to watch the leaves turn gold, and it felt right to Castiel. Like an extension of all the other times they had sat together, just the two of them. He wondered if it could possibly be this easy, if dating could be just like friendship, but more. He had never really thought about wanting to be with someone; maybe that had been because he was busy doing other things, or maybe it was just the way he was, but either way, this was new. This wanting to be with Sam and the electricity he felt when they touched. He felt a strange sense of desire and eagerness that somehow also allowed him to feel at ease with himself, and he wasn’t used to that.

“You know this is very clichéd,” he deadpanned one day when Sam wrapped his arms around him to help him knead some dough. He had learned, over the course of years of misunderstandings, that his way of teasing was not typical and not easily understood. But Sam had never been offended by it, and Castiel felt himself becoming freer, not watching what he said so closely. It wasn’t that he was changing, exactly, more like he was becoming more unapologetically the person he’d always been.

“What, seducing you by teaching you to bake? Nah, totally original,” Sam laughed. “Not so hard, okay? You don’t have to beat it into submission.”

Sam’s arms fit easily around Castiel. It reminded him of how easily he fit in the spaces between the shelves in the bookstore, like they were home. He eased up his kneading, letting his fingers just rest on the dough.

“How’s that? Light enough?” He turned to smile at Sam, and for a moment everything was perfectly comfortable, just two friends, slightly more than friends, laughing with each other. But then it was something else, and Castiel felt a tightness in his chest when Sam glanced down at his lips.

Sometimes, he needed time to think about things before making a decision. When he’d made his decision, though, like when he’d bought the bookstore, he did so with a certainty that was unshakeable. Deciding to kiss Sam was one of the easiest things he had ever done, and one of the most terrifying, but it was okay. It was all okay, because Sam was right there with him, wrapping his arms more tightly around Cas and leaning into the kiss and tasting like toothpaste, and it was brief but it was _right_.

When they pulled away, Cas kept leaning back against Sam, and Sam kept holding him.

“I would like to do more of that,” Cas said decidedly, making Sam laugh and kiss his cheek.

“Sounds good to me.”

Castiel began to ask for more. Not much, just small things. _Would you come with me to the estate sales this weekend? May I come over this afternoon? May I kiss you?_ Sam didn’t ask for as much, and Castiel wondered about that, worried that he was pushing too much, but Sam almost always said yes and happily. Maybe he held back a little because Castiel had been so determined about his boundaries early on, or maybe because of his own inexperience, but Castiel wasn’t sure. He knew Sam had been with someone else in the past, a woman named Jessica, but he rarely mentioned her, and Cas didn’t ask questions that might be too painful to answer. In any case, whether he was protecting Cas or protecting himself, Sam never gave the impression that he was reluctant. He just let Cas make the moves. And things were good.

They stayed in on rainy days and kissed lazily on Sam's couch. They got kicked out of the movie theater because Sam's snarky comments about the crappy action movie they were seeing made Cas laugh so hard that other patrons complained. They sat on benches in the park together and read each other sappy love poems, and they froze their asses off stargazing on one of the coldest nights of the fall (because, as Castiel explained, the stars are more visible when it’s cold out). Castiel leant Sam _The Neverending Story_ , and he finished it in a week. It astonished Cas that when Sam gave it back, wanting to talk about it and how much he loved it, that he had actually forgotten the book was gone. He had been okay without it, or he had been okay because it was with Sam. They didn't talk about certain things, not directly, but there would be time for that.


	9. November

Castiel knew he shouldn't ask, but he also needed to. Because they'd been dating, officially, for almost two months, and they'd been friends for even longer, and he had felt more and more like he wasn't being for Sam what Sam had been for him. That Sam was afraid to tell or to ask him something and instead was carrying it on his own, and it made Cas feel like he wasn’t being the person Sam needed him to be. He wasn’t sure what it was that Sam needed, exactly, whether he needed to talk or for something to change in their relationship or something else entirely, but Cas knew that it had something to do with the things Sam never talked about. So finally he asked, one early morning as he watched Sam prepare dough for the day, about Sam's mom.

“She died,” Sam answered, kneading the dough a little harder. “Dad started drinking, disappeared for a while, left Dean and me on our own a lot. He died just before I was supposed to start law school, left a bunch of debt, I had to drop out, help pay some of it back. That's it.”

Cas could tell when Sam was lying, and he didn't want to push, but he had to make sure Sam understood why he asked.

“You know you can tell me the rest, if you want to, don't you?” he asked. “Whatever you need to say, I'll listen.”

“Aren't you Mr. Boundaries, Cas? Just leave it, okay?” Sam twisted his fingers in the dough, still not looking at Castiel. He'd never seen Sam like this, not angry, it seemed, but torn up by something and so, so afraid to let Cas know about it. Castiel leaned back against the counter behind him, the width of the table between him and Sam like a floury desert.

“You've never asked about the people I lost,” he said quietly. “I'd tell you, you know. And I'm not saying you have to do the same. What I'm saying is, I trust you. I depend on you, too, and that scares me.” Cas watched Sam's hands, not twisting anymore but resting on top of the dough. “But I want you to ask me, and I want to tell you.”

Sam hesitated, eyes closed. Castiel could hear his breath, deliberately calm and steady.

“What if I told you,” Castiel continued, speaking as though these were just hypotheticals. Things that weren’t real enough to hurt, “that I'd drop the bookstore in a heartbeat if I could go back to the Air Force and fly again?” Sam bit his lip, pausing for a moment before he answered.

“What if I told you that some days I hate myself because I didn't know my mom enough to miss her?” he whispered, staring at the dough in his hands. “That I named the bakery after her to remind me of her every day, because otherwise I'm afraid I'd forget her?”

“What if I told you that my accident...” Castiel hesitated. These were the things that lived in his head, the things in his dreams. He wasn’t sure he wanted Sam to see them, but maybe if he showed him pieces of his baggage, Sam would keep sharing his own. “What if I told you I wasn't the only one that got hurt? I had two soldiers with me, and I could only save one.”

Sam took a deep breath. Castiel glanced up, but the pain in Sam's face was too much, and he had to look away or he would have to go to him and stop him from saying anything else.

“What if I told you that I was in love with Jessica?” Sam finally said. “But there was a fire, and I—I couldn't save her, and I couldn't save my dad, and I still have nightmares about them both and how I should have been able to save them.”

Cas's heart caught in his throat, and he gripped the counter behind him. _No, no no_ , he thought. _You couldn't have saved them_. He didn't know if it was true, but he felt it with all of his being.

“What if I told you it was my fault?” That, he knew to be true. His own pride, an enemy closer than he'd anticipated. “The accident was my fault, and they gave me a medal for the soldier I saved, and I threw it in a river for the one that I lost. For Rachel.”

“If you told me all that, I'd love you anyway,” Sam said, finally looking up. It was the first time either one had said that; they'd almost said it a hundred times, danced around it, said and done other things that meant the same thing, but still. It was the first time. Cas stepped forward until he could reach across the table and hold Sam's hands, needing to touch him.

“I love you, too,” he said, as much with his hands as with his words. He leaned forward and rested his forehead against Sam's. “I love you and everything about you. I just need you to know that you can lean on me,” he added quietly. “That you can ask me for whatever you need.” Sam nodded, and they kissed softly, dusting each other's hair and cheeks with flour, then happily, laughing at the mess and each other's smiles.

Sam closed the bakery for the day, and Cas left Kevin in charge of the bookstore, and they went back to Cas's apartment and spent the morning in bed together. They talked about Rachel, and about Jessica, and about the guilt they had carried for them, but they also talked about what they had loved about them, about their inside jokes and how happy they’d been, about what it was like having someone who knew everything about you and loved you anyway. In the afternoon, they drove to Sam's parents' graves, so Sam could introduce them to Castiel, whom he also loved. There were leaves covering everything that flew up when they walked, and Sam brushed them off the stones so they could see the inscriptions.

“Mr. and Mrs. Winchester,” Castiel said, “I am very pleased to meet you.” He said it with absolute sincerity, and Sam held him close and laughed until he couldn’t breathe.


	10. December

It was Castiel's idea to merge the bookstore and the bakery. Sam was hesitant to agree; he understood Castiel's need for space and his continued (if subdued) frustrations at the presence of lattes in his bookstore. But when Cas pressed him about whether he, Sam, liked the idea for himself, he had to admit that he did. He loved the bookstore, and so did his customers, and it would bring them both more business. Castiel thought there was something else, something about the idea that made Sam smile brightly despite his caution. Still, he wanted Cas to be sure, and he asked him to wait a while to decide. “Give it a month to change your mind,” he said.

The month was busy; the volume of business they both experienced before the holidays was predictably high and exhausting. They spent more and more time doing very little together, just laying together on one of their couches reading or napping, stroking each other's hair and quietly enjoying each other's presence. It was comforting to Castiel, this quiet they were able to share, never feeling that he had to perform or entertain Sam, knowing that being there was enough. Especially with Christmas coming, a time that had been full of relatives and elaborate traditions and _stress_ in his childhood and full of loneliness since he had left home.

This year, Christmas would be difficult again, but Castiel was actually looking forward to it. Mostly. Okay, if he thought about it too much, it did seem pretty stressful, the idea of finally meeting Sam's brother, but Sam had promised him that he wouldn't have to do much, wouldn't be the center of attention at all. They were going to be there for the wedding, after all, and nobody would be overly concerned about Sam's new boyfriend.

“Who plans a wedding for Christmas?” Castiel had complained when Sam brought it up, his nervousness getting the better of him. The fact that Sam wanted him there, with his _family_ , was more than a little overwhelming. “Don't people usually do, I don't know, Christmas things around this time of year?”

“We, uh, never did much of that. Dean always liked Christmas, but Dad was the least holiday-spirited guy ever, and I... I guess I didn't want to ask Dad for much. Asking for things never really went over well with him.” Sam had explained. They were cuddling in Cas's bed, and Cas turned over so he could see Sam's face better. “But ever since Dean and Lisa have been together, they've made Christmas a thing, a big, family thing. So it makes sense to get married when they're already having everybody over. Honestly,” he'd added with a grin, “I think Lisa just agreed so Dean wouldn't try to get her to let him do it on Valentine's day, because he is a gross, sappy romantic.”

“Yeah, nothing like you at all,” Cas had teased gently, pulling him in for a kiss.

***

The weeks leading up to Christmas went quickly but it also felt very slow. Every day that he and Sam didn't get to see each other was another day that Cas was more sure that merging their stores would be a good idea. But Sam had asked him to think about it for a month, so he did so. He thought about all the ways it could go wrong, and all the ways it could go right, and he held Sam's hand at every opportunity. He tried not to be nervous about Christmas; being busy helped, and he opened the store every day to accommodate the crowds, but he promised Sam he would close on Christmas Eve so they could make the drive the day before the wedding. And so Castiel found himself, on Christmas Eve, shaking the snow from his shoulders and walking into the Roadhouse for the bachelor party of a man he had never met but wanted very badly to make a good impression on.

The man in question, when they found him, was engaged in a losing battle with a bottle of whiskey and a man named Victor, who seemed to have no shame about drinking the groom under the table mere hours before he was supposed to walk down the aisle.

“Sammy!” Dean mumbled, “where the hell've you been? Victor's been helping me pass the time, but I was waiting for you.”

“Yeah, good to see you too, Dean,” Sam said with a smile, pulling his brother into a hug.

“Need to have a talk with you 'bout... 'bout something. Important?” Sam just laughed and held Dean upright, while Cas hung back, unsure of whether to introduce himself. This was not his usual kind of place; he had spent plenty of time in bars, but it had been a while, and the protocols were a bit hard to pin down.

“Probably the wedding, right? Best man duties or something?”

“Yeah! 'sit. 'm getting married.” Dean's smile was huge, like he'd just remembered he'd won the lottery. Castiel decided he was going to like him.

“Hey, man, we have money on this thing. You gonna quit like that?” Vic called over.

“Hey, Vic. I'm cutting him off. Lisa will kill me if I let this keep going,” Sam answered apologetically. Dean, though, was having none of it.

“Uh-uh, Sammy. 's my honor on the line. What kinda man would I be, if I quit now?”

“Um, the kind of man who can walk down the aisle instead of getting carried in by the groomsmen?”

Castiel eyed the bottle as Dean and Sam continued to argue, and he made a decision.

“Tag me in.”

Dean turned to look at Castiel for the first time, squinting a bit. Castiel wondered, briefly, whether this was a bad idea, but he wasn't going to back down now.

“No way,” Victor answered. “You're stone cold sober.”

“Tell me how much Dean has had, and I can catch up.”

“Who're you?” Dean asked. “Who's the knight in... in trench coat-y armor, Sam?”

“Uh, Dean, meet my boyfriend. Castiel. I told you about him, remember?”

“Yeah, vaguely. He's cute. 's a bad idea,” he said to Castiel. “Vic's a cylon or something, and no offenseses but I don't know if you've got what it takes.”

“Cas, you don't have to--”

“I got this, Sam,” Castiel assured him. Sam didn't really know much about Castiel's time in the Air Force or how much he could drink. Cas wasn't sure he _wanted_ him to know, but it seemed there was no other choice. “If Victor will allow the substitution.”

“Hey, I'm good with it, as long as you catch up.”

***

The next morning, Castiel brought Victor coffee and advil and apologized profusely, although Victor didn't seem to have much memory of who he was or what he'd done. Dean, looking somewhat pale but upright of his own volition, came and found Cas before getting dressed for the wedding, slung an arm around his shoulder, and told him he'd decided to give him and Sam his blessing.

“You saved my ass, man,” he said. “My head hurts like a sonofabitch, but I'd be in Hell right now if you hadn't shown up.”

“Well, I decided before coming that I should try to impress the most important people in Sam's life, and I believe rescuing you will impress Lisa very much.” Castiel said it with a straight face, hoping Dean would appreciate his humor the way Sam did. Luckily, he did, although he stopped laughing very quickly and held his aching head in his hands.

“Well-played, Cas. Doesn't mean I won't destroy you and everything you love if you hurt my little brother, though.”

“Understood. Would you like some advil?”

***

Castiel hadn't been to a wedding in years, and the ones he had been to had been formal affairs. This one was held in Dean and Lisa's living room, with the party spilling out all over the house, and there was very little in the way of formality, and it helped Castiel to feel that he didn't have to work quite so hard to fit in. He did try, though, making small talk with the others at his table, dancing with the older women who asked him and with a few teenagers who looked like they were feeling left out. It was the kind of thing that, a year ago, would have exhausted him. It still wasn't easy, but there was something about being here, about this family, that made him feel that it was all very much worth it. That his energy was helping to make the day better for people he hoped, one day, to care about very much. And one he already did.

He was surprised when Lisa came to find him, thinking she had more important guests to attend to, but of course he agreed when she asked him to dance.

“I need to apologize,” he told her. “My people skills are rusty, but I think I should have been the one to ask you to dance. You are the bride, after all.”

“Not at all,” she reassured him with a laugh. “I saw you dancing with my aunt Gladys, and I think you fulfilled your obligation by putting up with the way she stomped on your feet.”

He smiled and nodded his agreement.

“I hear I have you to thank for making sure my husband was in a fit state this morning.”

“Well, I thought I should make myself useful. To thank you for your kind invitation. I think Sam may have been embarrassed,” he confessed.

“No,” she answered, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “Sam was not embarrassed. You're a good one, Cas. I hope he hangs onto you.”

“So do I,” he managed to say, although he was feeling suddenly more emotional than he had all day. The music was slowing down, and Lisa pulled him in for a hug.

“I'm going to go find him,” she promised. “He owes you a dance.”

Castiel and Sam danced for the rest of the evening, then stole as many blankets as they could find and climbed onto the upstairs deck to watch the stars, and Castiel held tightly to Sam's hand. The next night, after they got back from the wedding and Sam had dropped him off in front of their shops, Castiel make a decision. He framed the old “No Food or Drinks” sign, added a note that just said, “I took this down the day of the grand opening. Please, can we take down the wall now?” and slid it through Sam's mail slot. The next morning, Sam agreed.


	11. January

Castiel was sorry to call Anna to ask for money, but in the end he didn't even have to ask, because after he told her about the merger, about everything that had happened between him and Sam? She swore that if he didn't let her invest in them, she would just show up and start filling his drawers with money while he slept. He promised to accept the investment, and he made her promise to come visit, anyway, and to bring Jo this time. Although they'd have to stay in a hotel if she came before the construction was done.

He wasn't even sure where he'd be staying; between the general chaos and improvements they wanted to make to the second floor apartment and storage areas, his carefully ordered living space was going to be essentially _un_ livable, and the local motels were all too expensive and uncomfortable for a long-term stay. At least his garden beds could be safely covered and left alone until Spring, so he didn't have to worry about those, but as for himself, things were more complicated. Finally, Castiel asked Charlie if anyone in her building had rooms to rent, hoping at least to find a place with a lock on the door. Sam, who had taken to spending his evenings in a comfy chair in the science fiction section while he waited for his boyfriend to close up shop, just happened to overhear. He didn't say anything then, but later they sat on the stairs under Cas's apartment, and they talked about what it might be like to live together for a while. Just until construction was done. Just to see how it felt.

“I won't be offended if you don't want to,” Sam promised. “I know you're...” He trailed off, and Cas glared at him.

“I like my space,” he supplied, keeping his voice even.

“Yeah. Look, that's not a bad thing. I just thought, well, I've _been_ thinking, that we're in each other's space kind of a lot lately. And it might not be a bad idea to try making it a more official kind of thing. Temporarily.”

Castiel didn't really mind Sam's hesitation or the way he spoke carefully about Cas's boundary issues. Castiel knew it was something Sam struggled with in their relationship, figuring out how much he could ask of Cas. Cas was glad that Sam _had_ started asking for things, but if he was being honest with himself, Castiel struggled with the boundaries, too. Sam had a way of wearing down his walls, but that didn't always feel like a good thing. The walls helped him feel safe. He couldn't ignore the fact that despite being happier than he'd been in a long time, Castiel was having more flying dreams that ended... well, badly.

But that wasn't Sam's fault. And it was a practical solution, really. There would be nothing stopping Cas from renting a room somewhere else if things went wrong or just didn't feel right. So he agreed. It felt like the brave thing to do, and it felt _right_.

That's not to say that it was _easy_. After a few days, they learned that Castiel's habit of leaving the windows open was not so great for Sam, who was almost always cold. And Sam's apartment was sometimes hard to navigate for Cas, especially at night when his vision was low, and _especially_ when Sam did things like move the ottoman to use as a foot rest or leave drawers open in the kitchen. They argued about what time was a reasonable time to set an alarm clock for, because Castiel had zero interest in living the schedule of a baker, and Sam didn't always appreciate Cas staying up until all hours reading. Castiel could have stood his ground on that for a long time, but when Sam finally confessed that he liked to fall asleep with Cas beside him, Castiel relented and got a small reading light so he could read in bed. They settled into patterns and learned to manage their space with careful compromises.

The dreams didn't abate, though, and for Castiel there was a new kind of anxiety with them. He'd wake up sweating, heart beating fast, but where he used to face only and empty apartment and his own thoughts, now he had Sam. Sam who would wake up when Castiel pulled at the sheets, who would try so hard to comfort him, who wanted to badly to hold him when all Castiel needed was space. It was like he was seeing his own fears for the first time, reflected in Sam's face, and it made them somehow more real, made it somehow harder to let the dreams be the status quo. But wanting to fix things and knowing how, they were both learning, were two different things.


	12. February

Their disagreements became actual arguments a few times, of course, but things came to a head in the middle of February. It started so small that in the moment, Castiel wasn't even sure how it had gotten so big. Or felt so big, anyway. It was just because Sam wanted to install brighter lighting, more like the bakery’s, on the bookstore side.

“Maybe widen the space between the shelves, too. It would make it easier for more people to browse and to actually see what they’re supposed to be looking at, you know?”

Castiel gripped his coffee cup tighter. He was sitting at Sam’s kitchen table, morning light spilling across the room and making things shine. It was earlier than he would have liked, but a dream had woken him up shortly before Sam's alarm, anyway. Sam sat beside him, flipping through floor plans as if it didn’t really matter one way or another, and Castiel couldn’t figure out how to answer him.

“Cas? What do you think? Same lights as mine, or should we pick out new ones?”

“No,” he managed to say. “The lights I have are adequate.”

“But don’t you think it would be good for business? Besides, it’d look weird for half the place to be bright and half all dark and moody.”

Castiel flinched at that. _Dark and moody_. He could have that printed on his business cards, but he thought that Sam saw him differently. Saw him… but if he looked at the bookstore and that was all he took away, maybe he wasn’t seeing Cas at all. He wasn’t seeing how safe the narrow shelves felt and how the lights made everything warm and soft. He wasn’t seeing how anxious brightness and crowds of people made Castiel, how much he felt scrutinized when everyone could see him so well. They were both tired, both under a lot of stress, wanting everything to turn out well but not sure how to get there, and Castiel knew it, but he stood up anyway.

“Then maybe you should reconsider whether you want to attach your… your _business_ to something so unpleasant,” he said, scowling down at the blueprints on the table. “I’ll leave you to your plans.”

“Cas—“

But he was already heading for the door, and Sam must have known better than to get in his way. It would only make things worse. Even in the moment, Castiel knew he was overreacting, but he needed to get away.

He had that urge sometimes, and Sam knew about it. At heart, they both knew, Castiel was always missing the sky. They had talked about it, about how much he loved his dreams of flying, even when they ended badly because, for a moment, it felt like he was back up there for real. Sam tried, but he couldn't really understand, and Cas couldn't really explain, exactly what he had lost. A part of himself carved out with a dull knife, a wound that wouldn't heal and couldn't even be named.

He thought about that as he walked, about the freedom of flight, about how easy it had been, for a time, to run away from everything. Whatever it was, as soon as he took off he felt it getting smaller and smaller. Smaller things are easier to deal with. But now he had Sam, and the store—the _stores_ —hemming him in. Not maliciously, but where could he go? He was earthbound, and although he felt better about himself and his life than he had in a long time, it felt more and more like he would never be completely okay. That life here on the ground was untenable, and eventually everything he’d found for himself would become too much, his fear of losing it would become too much, and he'd have to either run away or risk having it taken from him. He loved Sam so much, and he didn’t want to run, but here he was, walking away instead of staying to fight. Running, trying to fly, confronting at every turn how completely he was failing to deal with with, well, _everything_.

The bookstore armchairs were in storage, and the apartment was off limits, basically in ruins at the moment, but the staircase was still there. Made sense that he’d end up here, Castiel thought, stuck in between. Not quite at home, not quite anywhere. He'd found homes for so many old, unwanted books, but here he was, living in borrowed space and not sure how to go about building a home for himself.

He closed his eyes and pulled his coat tighter around himself, trying to imagine what the space around him would feel like when it was done. He knew Sam was right; that was the worst thing. There would have to be changes, and the store wouldn’t be quite the same as what he had made it anymore. And it wouldn’t be _his_ , it would be _theirs_ , and that was, frankly, terrifying. It wasn’t just about him depending on Sam, either. All of this meant that Sam was throwing in his lot, his business, his future, with Castiel. A man who couldn’t even face a simple argument with any sort of dignity or reasonable calm, apparently.

He was just deciding to go back and talk it out with Sam, although he wasn't sure what he'd say, when he heard the front door open.

“Cas, you here?”

“Yes. On the stairs.” Castiel wondered how hard it would be to undo the construction that had already been completed. To untie himself from Sam, if that was what Sam wanted.

“Can I come in?”

If he hadn't asked, Castiel might have told him to stop. But this was Sam, and he always asked.

“Of course,” Castiel answered. He made room for Sam so that they could sit side-by-side; he was still a little angry, but not at Sam, and not so much that he didn't want Sam here, didn't want to lean on his shoulder for comfort. “I'm sorry,” he said.

“Me, too. I should have realized you were upset, I was just... I wasn't paying enough attention.”

“You’re right about the lights, and they're such a small thing, but I panicked. Change is…” Castiel sighed. “It's difficult for me, even when I want it, even when I know it’ll be a good thing. _I_ can be difficult. I wish I knew why it frightened me so much. I want to be able to tell you it won’t happen again, but the fact is that I don’t know. I don’t understand myself sometimes, Sam. I used to think order and routine would save me from that, but I don’t want a routine that doesn’t have you in it. I don’t want a life that you can’t be entirely part of.”

“Neither do I. But we can't keep going like we have been,” Sam said quietly. Castiel shook his head, leaning into Sam so that he'd know it was okay to put his arm around him, which he did, gently.

“You said you wanted me to be able to ask you for things. Cas, I need to ask for something you might not like.”

This could be the end, Castiel realized. All this time, all the ways he'd opened up his heart and his life, and this could be the door slamming shut. He had no idea how he could possibly survive it.

“I want you to see someone,” Sam was saying. “A counselor or a therapist or something, you know. You've got... all this _stuff_ , the anxiety and the dreams, and I don't know how to deal with any of it, and I don't think you do, either. I need you to get help, because it's not you, Cas. Not the real you, anyway, and I'm afraid it's just going to keep getting bigger and bigger, and it's going to tear you apart.”

 _It's not me_ , Castiel thought, desperately grateful. _He wants to keep me_. Tears came to his eyes, and he turned and buried his face in Sam's coat, nodding. Sam's arms were tight around him, and Sam was promising to try harder and to pay attention, and Castiel couldn't say a word.


	13. March, Again

It took a few weeks and a few false starts to find a therapist who really seemed to get what Castiel was going through, and it was exhausting, but despite the slowness of the process he was happy. Just taking those steps, just having a plan and making a go of it made all the difference in the world. He was still earthbound, but he felt less trapped than he had in a long time. That's not to say it was easy not to have a place where he could close the door and hide from the world. Although he knew Sam was really trying to give him space, a one-bedroom apartment wasn't an easy space for two people when one of them was coming to realize that he needed a room of his own.

It was a problem he was still thinking over as they reviewed the next stage of the plans. Construction downstairs was going well, ahead of schedule, and it was time to make final decisions about changes to the upstairs. Castiel was frowning down at the plans for his own apartment, thinking about the struggle of living at Sam’s, when he called Sam over to look.

“See this? My living room has this odd corner, by the kitchen,” he explained. “If we added a wall there, I could have an office, somewhere to go when you're being insufferable,” he teased. Sam just stared at him. “What? Don't you think that would work?”

“Cas, hold up. Did you just ask me to move in with you? Like, for real, long-term, move in with you?” Castiel took a deep breath.

“Yes, I did,” he answered. “I don't want to live apart again, but your apartment is far too small for the two of us. Are you going to answer me, or just stare like I grew a second head?” Sam didn't answer him, and Castiel was afraid to look up from the plans. “If you need time, I can wait. Sorry, I just thought--”

“Yes.”

He expected one of Sam's enormous smiles, the kind that were too big and bright for ordinary rooms, but instead Sam just looked peaceful. He bent down and kissed Cas softly.

“Yes,” he murmured. “If you're sure you want me.”

“I'm sure, Sam.”

***

The next weeks were chaotic and awful and wonderful. Castiel woke up in Sam’s bed, and their days were filled with sawdust and splinters and yelling over power tools, because neither of them, Cas especially, was willing to let Benny and his crew do anything without supervision, and they often wanted to just do it all themselves. Cas kept going to therapy, even when he didn't want to and Sam had to remind him of how it was helping. And Sam started asking about the therapy, and whether they might go together one day. They planned and dreamed together, sitting on a bench across the street from the shops, watching a late snow turn into rain from under their umbrella and talking about how beautiful their place would be. “Our place,” they said, over and over again, like they were speaking it real.


	14. Milton & Mary's

Castiel filled Milton & Mary's with wildflowers for the grand re-opening. Despite the renovations, the regulars felt very much at home. The comfy chairs, bright tablecloths, over-full shelves of books, photos of family and friends: none of it was gone, just shifted around a bit. The only thing that was obviously missing, replaced by a reading area with loveseats and beanbag chairs, was the wall that had divided the two stores. Two large display windows held beautiful scenes from children's books made partly out of candy and chocolate, put together very expertly by Dorothy and Charlie, who had earned her way back into the kitchen by not setting a fire in more than a year.

Anna came, of course, and Castiel eagerly showed her his apartment, the store, and the secret room where the mystery novels were kept, which she loved. And when he was called away, he was perfectly happy to leave her with Sam. Watching the two people who meant the most to him in the world get along, listening to them talk easily about small businesses and the legal barriers that restricted their operations, made Cas grin from ear to ear.

Jo was terrifyingly direct and Castiel worried that Sam would find her off-putting, but he liked her immediately, as did Ben, who wanted to know if she was a real cop and did she have a gun and could he ride along with her sometime. Lisa looked mildly concerned, but Dean seemed quite please with the family his little brother had gotten himself mixed up in.

Castiel and Sam worked together to greet all their guests, and although Cas was exhausted by it, each hand he shook reminded him of how far he had come, of how distant he had been from the world a year before. He had clung so desperately to the idea of flying above it all that he hadn't realized how much he was missing out on. His therapist had advised him to let himself have his emotions, the anxiety and the worry and the fear, all of it, because if he didn't let himself feel anything, he would always be trapped up there, above the clouds, never letting himself get close enough to feel the good things, pride, excitement, love. He'd grumbled about it; “feel your feelings” struck him as profoundly inadequate advice, but as the weeks had gone by, it had helped. And he had thanked Sam more than once for asking him to get help, because every day he felt more and more capable of loving Sam the way he deserved. That was what made him happiest. He knew there would always be something different about him, something that he would always carry on his shoulders, no matter how much he healed or how much he loved. But it was bearable, so much more bearable, since he'd let Sam help him carry it once in a while. He really was capable, he had learned, of creating a new life for himself, not just living in the ghost of the old one.

The guests started to thin as the rain began to fall, until there were only a few people left. Charlie and Dorothy were wrapped up in each other on a loveseat, and Anna was raiding the kitchen for more strawberries and talking to Kevin about the challenges and rewards of pro-bono work. Dean and Lisa had taken Ben to see more of the town, but they were all going to have dinner together tomorrow. Jo, Benny, and a handful of regulars had found books and comfortable corners to read in, heedless of the wind that was picking up outside. It was different in every way from the rainy day when Charlie had first come crashing in, and yet there was something so familiar about it. Like this had always been Castiel's life, his home, and always would be.

“Hey, got a minute?” Sam came up behind Castiel, looking out over the store with a smile and kissing his hair.

“Certainly,” Castiel said with a grin. “What can I help you with?” Sam laughed and spun Cas around to kiss him thoroughly, and Cas sighed when he finally pulled away. Sam took his hand and pulled him toward the back of the store, where the adventure novels lived. The shelves were papered in maps of the world, and a picture of Sam and Cas holding hands—taken by a surreptitious customer at Cas's grand opening—hung on the back wall. From here, Cas could barely hear the rain.

“I know we've only just finished a big project,” Sam began, and Cas laughed at the understatement. “But there's something else I want to do with you. Something else I want to ask you for.” Cas kept laughing as Sam pulled him down into a beanbag chair, but as Sam spoke, his heart began to race, and he stopped laughing. “I don't have a ring, obviously,” Sam said. “I mean, we spent pretty much everything on the store, but I'd like to get you a ring someday. I'm not saying we have to start planning a wedding now, because that's way too much, and I am done with planning anything for a while, but I want you to know that I want that someday. With you. I want to marry you, Cas.”

Castiel was having a little trouble breathing. It was a lot, and it was fast, but of course he'd wondered. Wondered if Sam would ever want that, after all he'd lost when Jessica died. Wondered if he'd be able to say yes when Sam asked. But Sam hadn't put him on the spot, hadn't demanded an answer. Just said it was something he wanted, someday. When they were both ready.

“I didn't think I'd have a life again,” he said quietly. “When I couldn't fly anymore, I thought that was it. I was done. But you made it impossible not to fall in love with you.” Cas touched Sam's cheek softly, torn between pulling him close and holding him just far enough away that he could see his face, his brilliant smile. “Yes,” Cas promised with a grin. “Someday, when we are sufficiently recovered from all of this, I will marry you.”

It was too soon to start planning a wedding. Too soon even to tell anyone, but neither of them could help thinking, as they walked back through the store to start cleaning up after the party, that it would be a beautiful place for a reception.


End file.
